


The King of Knights Grants A Boon

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Banter, Curse Breaking, F/M, Scarification, Sparring, Timeline What Timeline, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’s aware of Lancer’s eyes on her as she lifts Excalibur, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Instead his eyes reassure her: while he may trust her, he’s not giving her his wellbeing on a platter."</p>
<p>Saber decides that Lancer's Love Spot has caused him misery for long enough, and takes matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King of Knights Grants A Boon

**Author's Note:**

> We're playing fast-and-loose with the canon timeline today! Hopefully not so much with medical procedures. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

As King of Britain, Saber has few moments where she can show enjoyment—even in battle against a worthy opponent. While war is an ugly, despairing thing she always hates, a one-on-one battle has a strong appeal. In battle against an equal opponent, she can use all her strength and wits at her disposal against an equally tough and wily warrior. If she’s lucky—and she often is—her enemy will understand her enjoyment.

She’s lucky tonight. Not only because Lancer is her foe—for once there is a lull between skirmishes. Both of their Masters are recuperating from the Mion River business, leaving her to pick her battles for now.

She knows she chose wisely.

Despite her weariness from blocking Lancer’s blows repeatedly, her heart soars in her chest. She has always loved the thrill of swordplay and sparring, despite how bruised her body becomes afterward. Lancer’s given her quite the challenge today, despite their temporary truce: blood trickles down her arms from the cuts he gave her, and she can feel bruises strain against her legs. _Despite this…I haven’t felt this light-hearted for many years._

The Einzbern Forest stands guard around them, the green leaves illuminated by the moonlight. The riverbank they’re using is sturdy, but the grass is wet with dew—they’ve nearly tripped twice. Thankfully it’s a source of amusement and friendly ribbing, rather than a fatal opening.

Speaking of openings—

Excalibur slices Lancer’s cheek, spilling blood across the blade. His wince echoes against the hilt—she can feel the movement in her hands. Despite his reaction, his brown eyes are bright.

“You should have aimed for the other cheek, King of Knights.” His words may be sarcastic, but they hide a genuine sadness.

Her eyes alight on his Love Spot, pitch-black against his pale skin. “It marks you like a brand,” she says without thinking. “It causes you no end of trouble, even after death. Truly, there is nothing crueler than a curse.”

Lancer chuckles, and his eyes grow weary. “A friend’s betrayal is crueler still.” His brows furrow. “Forgive me, Saber. No doubt I brought to mind some…unpleasantness.”

In truth, the words hadn’t connected until now. Saber thinks of Guinevere and Lancelot’s pain-filled eyes, and sadness lances through her chest. She brushes it aside—now is not the time.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You spoke truly.” Saber relaxes her stance. “Should we rest for a moment?”

“Gladly.” Lancer drops his red spear by his side and lies back on the soft grass.

She sits down beside him, heedless of the cold dew that soaks her armor and dress. For a long moment they sit in silence, watching the glowing stars reflect in the river. _Perhaps…this is what peace feels like._ She touches her hand to her chest, uncertain of what emotion is nestled there.

Saber glances down at Lancer, at his half-lidded eyes, thoughtful frown, and the Love Spot branded below his eye. She finds that the more she looks at it, the more it vexes her. Injustice has always made her blood boil, and tonight is no exception.

“Lancer.”

“Yes, Saber?”

“Have you ever…” She struggles to find the words. “Have you ever tried to mar your Love Spot?”

“I considered it, but it always seemed like a fool’s errand.” He chuckles wryly. “I believed it to be my burden to bear.”

She notes the past tense, and her idea grows more appealing. “Do you wish to try?”

Lancer looks at her, stunned. “Are you serious?”

“I have never been good at jests, I’m afraid.” She considers the tools at their disposal. “The only question is…what blade should we use? I have no wish to harm you, after all…”

“We could use my Gae Dearg—but it will not nullify the curse completely.” Lancer grins. “If you’ll forgive my impudence, I would rather not have a swordsman wield a spear so close to my eye.”

Saber grins back. “That’s understandable. And so…I suppose Excalibur will have to do. I suspect the curse bars you from harming it, so would you mind if I performed the scarring?”

“…I’m truly honored!”

“There’s no need for that, sir knight. Just…let me gauge the distance.”

“Of course.” Lancer sits up slowly. 

Saber reaches out and brushes her gauntleted fingers against Lancer’s cheek, noting the way his brow creases. “Are you _certain_ you’re alright with this?”

“Yes.” His gentle expression locks onto hers. “I trust you, King of Knights.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Her heart swells with warmth at his words. _How long has it been since I heard someone say that?_ She bows her head in gratitude and slowly retracts her hand.

She’s aware of Lancer’s eyes on her as she lifts Excalibur, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Instead his eyes reassure her: while he may trust her, he’s not giving her his wellbeing on a platter.

“Are you ready, Lancer?” Saber asks.

“Yes.” He answers without hesitation.

“Good. Now, then…lie back.”

Lancer smiles softly and lowers himself onto the grass. She positions herself above him, kneeling by his side. Excalibur is pointed down, the glowing tip before his Love Spot. Her hands are steady and her vision sure. She looks Lancer in the eye and is surprised to see his lashes flutter closed. Her body warms at the sight.

“Here it comes…” Her voice is a low rumble in her throat.

Beads of sweat dot Lancer’s brow. He inhales shakily. “Do it.”

She lets out a long sigh. As if one with her breathing, Excalibur’s tip eases downward. At first, it doesn’t look like anything’s happening—the Love Spot gives no quarter. Then a soft _hiss_ fills the cool air, followed by the smell of burning flesh. Pale skin turns from pink to blood red, opening before the heat.

And yet despite all this—probably because sudden movement could spell the loss of an eye—Lancer stays still. She can see his muscles tense, and his breaths are short and quick.

She pulls back. “Lancer, do you need me to stop?”

Lancer opens his eyes. “…I’m unsure. Is it working?”

She looks down at the swelling redness. “It appears so.”

His chuckle is shaky, but honest. “Good. Then continue. But…”

“Yes?”

“If possible…I wish to hear your voice. To know you’re beside me would soothe my heart.”

Saber’s lips part in surprise—if any of her knights wished for such a thing in Camelot, she never learned of it. To hear it from Lancer’s lips feels like an unearned gift, and she’s unsure of how to respond. She shakes away the shock; this is a boon she’s happy to grant.

“Of course.”

Lancer nods and closes his eyes in preparation. “Thank you, King of Knights.”

With a lighter heart, she begins again. This time, when blade meets flesh, she speaks softly of the quests of her knights, from the amusing to the tragic. She tells of grand tourneys and perilous struggles against mysterious foes—through it all her hands never tremble.

She watches Lancer’s fingers twitch every so often, though he endures the pain. Saber yearns to reach out for his hand, but to do so would throw off her aim.

“Your endurance is incredible,” she says from the heart. “You honor the Knights of Fianna, Lancer.”

His cheeks color, and he cracks open one eye to look at her. His surprised expression says what words cannot.

Lancer’s response pleases her, and every so often between her tales she praises him, both to make him feel better and to see that light in his eyes again. Despite this, she keeps her eyes on her task.

The Love Spot is covered over by a curved ridge of blackened skin. Excalibur has done its work well.

Lancer lets out an amused huff of breath.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing. Just…this smell reminded me of many battles. One in particular comes to mind. A skirmish, actually—no storyteller ever gave it a name.”

“I’d like to hear of it. I believe we’re finished.”

“Very well.” Lancer thinks for a moment then begins. “Rogue knights, butchers really, were ravaging a village; we were traveling nearby and came to their aid. The butchers had set fire to the huts, and I went inside to aid any I could. I managed to rescue some elders, but there were many…casualties.” It’s clear he means _corpses_. “It was too chaotic to fight back with all our strength, and we were far from home and weary. All hope seemed lost. But…”

“But?”

“We were not the only travelers, it turned out. A band of knights arrived, saw our trouble, and came to our aid. Ah, Saber, there has never been a gladder sight! The leader himself ran into the flames without fear astride a warhorse, and somehow decided I was worthy of assistance. Between the two of us, we rescued a potter’s family from their burning house. Before anyone could thank him, however, the knight vanished, and his band with him. I still recall the way his green eyes never flinched from his task…”

As Lancer recounts his story, his words tickle the back of her mind. She, too, has smelled burning flesh—it lingers in the back of the throat for days afterward. But this time, she dimly recalls a similar scene, helping some traveling knights defend a little village. But her life is so full that whenever she tries to remember more clearly, the image blurs into a thousand copies. _And yet…a potter’s family…?_

Lancer looks at her, his eyes bright with amusement. “I’d like to think that knight was you, Saber.”

Saber smiles sadly. “As do I.”

Lancer sighs. “So, you believe the curse has vanished?”

“By my estimation, yes.”

His grin is a mixture of mischief and worry. “How do you feel?”

“The same as always. You are a knight worthy of my respect, not a dashing man to throw myself at.”

He laughs. “I’m glad to hear it!”

She cleans and sheathes Excalibur. “We need to cool your cheek.”

“I have an idea. May I take your hand?”

She offers him her gauntleted hand. She suspects where this is going—and it makes perfect sense.

Lancer’s hand dwarfs hers as he tenderly brings it to his cheek. When the cool metal touches his skin, a faint tendril of steam trails upward, but he’s unharmed. The river swallows up his long, pleased sigh.

“How do you feel, Lancer?”

“Better than one would expect. As always, you were excellent, Saber.”

Saber chews her lip. “It was…” She laughs softly and shakes her head. “Well, it wasn’t ‘nothing’. But it _was_ assistance I was happy to lend. And you cannot thank me yet; we haven’t properly tested the results.”

“True, but merely feeling that curse melting before your blade was a relief.” He looks down at the ground in thought. “Though I’ll doubtless die in this Grail War, the memory of this night will return to me. When I do, I’ll seek you out”—he grins at her—“and not just to cure this curse.”

“…I’m afraid you’ll have a quest on your hands.”

Lancer looks at her sharply; it’s the look of a concerned friend, not an enemy or knight. His eyes hold no small amount of age and cunning, a calmer rendition of his expression on the battlefield.

Saber recalls that she heard of his legends before her own began, and feels a chill crawl up her spine. _This is not a man who will swallow half-truths._

“Saber…you’re not a full Heroic Spirit, are you?”

She considers dodging the question, but she doesn’t want him to search the Throne of Heroes for nothing. “…That’s correct.”

“Ah. That complicates matters.”

An awkward silence falls upon them. It doesn’t take long for Lancer to speak again:

“Well, regardless of how long it takes for you to become a Heroic Spirit in full—even if you find yourself in a different Afterlife—I’ll be glad to rekindle our relationship.”

“Lancer…you have my thanks.” It’s all she can say in response—nothing else fits.

“And I _yours._ ” Lancer clearly wants to say more, but he seems to hear something—his Master’s call. “I’m afraid our evening must be cut short. Until another time, Saber.”

“I look forward to our next bout.”

Saber gently moves her hand from his cheek. _I can feel his warmth, even through the metal…_

Lancer looks as if he doesn’t want to go, but his reluctance is replaced by a brilliant smile filled with relief when he touches his new scar. He lifts his hand in farewell and fades in a green blur.

She heads back to Einzbern Castle with a heart as light as a spark. The warmth of Lancer’s skin and the trust in his eyes lingers in her mind.


End file.
